Charlie Brunswick's Diary
by WilliamArthurWeasley
Summary: Charlie Brunswick is a young lad, a mate of Gerald's, back from France. Strange things are happening in his neighbourhood, the industrial, Victorian city of Brumley. As he himself tries to work out what on earth is going on, he makes friends with Sheila and Eric, discovers their hidden pasts, and faces one of his own...
1. Chapter 1

**Hello all! I'm back! Firstly, I apologise if you were expecting a Harry Potter fanfiction, as this is one based off J. 's 'An Inspector Calls'. It's an interesting play, and I recommend you read or watch it sometime!**

 **This fanfiction was mainly meant as a joke, but I tried to keep it somewhat serious!**

 **Also, I apologise, as the early chapters are a bit boring, but the action picks up, I promise!**

 **Hope you enjoy it...**

* * *

 **13/5/12**

I have returned from France! It was quite the experience. Indeed, I believe it was there that I found my vocation: I shall be a compelling novelist. My father disagrees, and has thus banned me from writing any more articles for mother's newsletter, in case it 'encourages me'. Nevertheless, I still hold strongly on to this calling, and so I have decided to write a diary. The dramatic diary of Charlie Brunswick.

However that isn't solely my reason for this diary! Today has been utterly unusual. I had hoped to be invited to the Palace Bar, to celebrate Gerald's engagement...only to have it revealed to me that Miss. Birling herself broke it off! What character she must have!

On that note, the Birlings family certianly seems to have gone into a state of disarray.

Mrs Birling implementing stricter rules for the Brumley Women's Charity work.

Sheila breaking off the engagement with Gerald.

Mr. Eric Birling being accused of company theft..

Something has happened at the Birlings'. Maybe the trial on the 16th of May will clarify thippngs. After all, father runs the trials- it'll be a brilliant opportunity to view what has happened to one of the most prominent families in Brumley.

Oh, especially since the look of guilt in Gerald's eyes was just as prominent when speaking to me. I know him too well, and I am tied in this somehow. With my weakness, that is curiosity, and my reputation at stake too, I feel obliged to find out, and that I will do.


	2. Chapter 2

**Once more, this chapter is quite short and boring, and if anyone is actually reading this...hold on?**

 **Anyway, it's my birthday tomorrow, I'm gonna be 16!**

 **Enjoy...**

* * *

 **14/5/18**

Nothing much occoured today, though my mother came home, somewhat complaining, somewhat praising (women are indeed quite a foreign creature), that Mrs. Birling of the Women's charity thing is being even harsher to the poor folk who come there, something about one of them trying to ruin her reputation. Sure, sympathy must be held for such creatures, however, they should each know how to respect their superiors.

I went to the palace bar to pick up a pretty one. Ages ago, there was a really nice girl, as rare as they come, however, the poor thing, she was so upset, I didn't want to make it worse. She wasn't there this time. I just had to go for one of the others, that the old Joe hadn't gotten. But it seemed weird without any of my friends (Edward and Henry moved away earlier this year, Gerald is currently in an odd state, and Francis's too busy sending time with his new wife), so I left her just outside. She complained bitterly, but she did choose to have that job, rejection is just a part of the loathsome work. I still feel a pang though: what a desperate situation she must've been in to get to such a stage!

* * *

 **15/5/12**

I went out again today, father and mother are being rediculous, as usual. As such, I met with Gerald, for he too has informed me that his parents have been rediculous recently too. Well, all I had to say was that he was lucky he didn't have a sister: Cecilia only seems to talk of fashion!

To the point, Gerald and I returned to the Palace Bar, But Gerald didn't seem the same. His split with Sheila was probably hard on him, though he refuses to go with one of the girls. I don't get it. Besides, Miss. Birling wasn't even pretty in my view.

Thus, I asked him about it. He told me, he felt fine at first, but it slowly kicked in. I asked him, 'what happened, what happened?'. He said he shall tell me later. All he said, was, it was 'him.' He left me in utter confusion. I've related it to the odd glances he gave to the local ladies, but that's all.

 _20:00_

Well, Gerald appears to be lodging in our guest room tonight. I offered him the spare room near the town centre, but he refused. I found out why. In short terms, be kept one of the Palace women- the pretty but upset one- for himself in the room for like a month. I said, with a laugh, that I didn't mind, and he didn't really either, but he felt bad for Sheila and the girl, he said. And just before he went to bed, he muttered 'Daisy died.'

He must've cared for her. It's somewhat weird, but I feel bad for him. That must've been quite a mess. He gave very few details about that man he mentioned earlier. I'll work that out sometime.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hallo! I anonymously handed this to a teacher, and they're gonna sent it to the head of the English Department!**

* * *

 **16/5/12**

Today was...interesting. Eric Birling was being judged by my father, for theft. It seems he stole money from his father's company! But that wasn't the weirdest bit- he lost his temper. I have never seen much of him, but his words shall stick with me: 'Damn this! What does this matter? This is nothing. She was so important, but no, 'father's company, father's reputation, father's knighthood! Bribed you, did he?' That last bit is very true, I caught a glimpse of the telegram on father's desk, Mr. Birling was paying for the limited information revealed to those at the meeting. But who's 'she'? It is like that damned 'he' of Gerald.

Eric shall be working at the Crofts' factory, until he works his money back. Eric then rolled his eyes and sighed. How odd! He recall him exclaiming 'What does that matter now!?' Mr. Birling then got up, and publically disowned Eric. He complained that the 'Bernard Shaws' are getting too much influence over the next generation. Miss Birling was highly distressed, Gerald assured her that he shall do his best to make sure her brother is treated fairly. I imagine this is only to get them back on engagement state, but his weird behaviour may mean otherwise. I'll wait and see, I've never been one for this romance and marriage nonsense, but this is unfolding to be quite the story.

* * *

 **17/5/12**

Gerald and Miss Birling are together again! They are spending the evening at the Birlings', and have requested me as a chaperone. It appears every single one of their family members are out. Brumley is becoming ever so dry, all respectable folk seem to have left! It is the Crofts, Birlings, Brunswicks and Elricson who hold on here, after the Herolds and Frettings left. Meggarity is planning on leaving soon- not saying that I'm upset about it though.

 _21:00_

It seems Miss. Birling has quite a personality! For once, she wasn't one of those silly women who talk about fashion: though Gerald doesn't seem to like it. Not to mention, she's rather open, and it appears she knows Gerald's 'him' and Eric's 'her'. Gerald kept on eyeing me, telling her to quieten down. I much prefer Miss. Birling, who didn't care for keeping up pretences- though ironically, I would do what Gerald did, and try to get her to quieten down. What on Earth is going on though? Why won't anybody tell me?

Thus, I have arranged to meet Miss. Birling in two days time, without Gerald.

* * *

 **18/5/12**

I went to inspect the spare room, in which Gerald kept the girl for a month. It had it's usual airy feel covered with a stuffy, tense one: I hated it. It was dirty, and dusty, and in need of a clean, and thus I knew exactly what to do. I went out on to Factors lane, where I knew all those poor folks hang about, asking if anyone needs any service. I looked out for a child- they were generally quicker at cleaning, and were easily brainwashed into doing it at a lower price- so when this young boy, with dirty brown hair, came along, I asked him if he'd like to do a job for me, cleaning the extra room. He agreed happily and readily.

What a mistake. I went around to a couple of the shops, and when I came back, that dirty little bastard was reading a letter. One signed 'Daisy Renton.' That's the girl Gerald kept for summer, and was clearly a _private matter_. If that got out, that small rat could've ruined Croft's reputation. In a rage of anger and fire, I burnt the letter, and then dragged that scumbag down to the child holder, you know, the one that tortures those kids with work and stuff, but this thing deserves it. How dare he? _How dare he?_ He was screaming and kicking, even having the audacity to say the letter was for _him_! I cannot think clearly now, I was so full of rage! I held a heart of sympathy for people like him, but they seem solely intent on ruining our reputation! It is so, so petty, so selfish of them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Guess who's going into exam week? Sigh. Enjoy this chapter (why am I still uploading this?)**

* * *

 **19/5/12**

So Gerald came round to mine, complaining bitterly, that Shelia refuses to speak to him. He won't say why though, but I think he's ill, for as quickly as he wanted to come around here, he left to go back to Eric, slaving away at the Crofts' factory. Poor lad, it must be tiring. But I was annoyed, for if Shelia was now considered to be 'out' of an engagement, I had to have a chaperone when visiting her. But Sheila, once again, proved to be incredibly smart for a girl, and brought along her brother, who also appeared to be going through alcohol withdrawal, so was not really focusing on all we said. Either way, Sheila said he's a safe bet for whatever we said.

Miss. Birling basically explained this 'Inspector Goole' who told them that her family and Gerald was involved in hurting this one woman, which lead to her suicide. And then she started questioning me! Asking if I'd done anything I should be guilty of. I couldn't really think of anything that I've really felt guilty for, other than the time that I took my sister's best dress after she annoyed me that time- but she wasn't going to kill herself anyting soon, the silly stuck-up girl.

Well, it looks like Gerald's 'him' was this odd fake police, while Eric Birling's 'her' was this Daisy Renton, a lower class Palace Girl. I had worried over so little! What a nuisance.

* * *

 **20/5/12**

How odd today was! I received a most unusual letter today, unsigned as well! I shall copy it out:

"Mr. Charlie Brunswick

I've heard you and Miss. Birling are now acquaintances. Good. She was unprepared when he came. But I am giving you one day, today. One day to change your fate, and this means your family. But...ignorance and laziness being the rich man's companion, I suspect I will have to pay a visit to the Brunswick household. "

I assumed it was that Inspector Goole, however it was written as if Goole hadn't written the letter, though considering he is likely of lower class, they never seem to use appropriate grammar. And it couldn't be- if 'he' visited the Birlings, who wrote? Damn this curiosity.

After all Sheila had warned me, I figured I had better give it a go, caring for the poor, trying to change my family. Mother and Cecilia were in the drawing room, as always, so I burst in.

'Do excuse your silly clothes talk for a second. I need to ask you both a question.'

'Charlie, where is you respect for your mother?'

I refrained from saying that I had lost it somewhere a while ago.

'Have you hurt one from the lower class before?' She simply snorted.

'Son, I help them. I'm part of the _Brumley Women's Charity Organisation._ I am too kind for them!' I realised that was all mother could say. But it is true, it is a charity- why would my charitable mother hurt a lower person? I asked Cecilia, but she couldn't recall anything. I left disappointed, but not surprised. Just upset that Cecilia could not be any more different from Miss. Birling, who I now regard as something of a younger sister.

Father was working, so it was wrong to disturb him. I still wonder who-

Lord, that boy I took to the alley!

 _21:00_

I have searched for over three hours. All traces of him have gone. What else can I do? I have tried my best, and if that damned inspector tells me off for it, he should've warned me before I chucked him away! He should've given me some clues! If he chose to die, that is his fault. Sad, but I cannot be blamed, in fact, the inspector is. If he knew, why didn't he stop it? Fool.


	5. Chapter 5

**A nice, long chapter for you...**

* * *

 **21/5/12**

So today was...

I can't. I can't.

It wad exausting. I'm tired, more mentally than anything.

Maybe tomorrow, maybe tomorrow...


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry for the sort chapter, it was mainly a tension thing. Here's chapter six part one, genuinely long this time!**

 **Also, my friend revealed to the teachers, who I submitted this story to, that I wrote this story. I'm both excited and nervous to see how they react!**

 **Anyway, back on to the main event! Hopefully it's more interesting than the last few chapters...**

* * *

 **23/5/12**

I recall that day with precise detail: it has been dancing and taunting my mind all day. And I guess I must inform you of it. For I dread my future self forgetting this.

It was our Sunday after-meal- the only time the whole family was together in relaxation time. It's normally very awkward anyway, what with nothing to talk of together, but this time, as I expected, an Inspector called.

But it was no Inspector Goole that came in. He was a short man, with a overall smooth face, but wrinkles between his eyebrows immediately presented an intimidating and sarcastic man. A small smirk played on his face, though his eyes were graven, a faded, sad shade of sapphire. Damn, I cannot capture it! There was something in his aura like that of a headmaster- an ability to silence a room with his mere presence, a lingering feeling of him knowing more than he says. Though Cecilia quickly hushed when the servant brought him in, mother and father instantly began babbling.

'Good evening. I am Inspector Ruevault, and I have come-'

'I am a well-respected lawyer, in touch with the police, and yet I have no knowledge of you.'

'Father, let him speak-'

'He came with no warning. That is unacceptable. I can make you loose your job like that.'

'And will a claim to adultery make you lose your job?'

Sharp, sarcastic, straight-facts. I winced, Cecilia gasped, but mother? Mother chuckled.

'You have proof?' she continued.

'No. But I am not here to make you loose your jobs. You know it's true, and you'll see the consequences. The not-legal ones.'

And then, then I was sure. His jewel-like eyes focused on me, something like pain and knowing brewing within them. Yes, then I knew, that the young boy was dead. But the other three didn't.

Father's booming voice filled the room, seconds after viewing a certian picture. On it, the blurry figure of a very pretty woman. She had dark hair, and proudly wore a 'Birling & co.' uniform. He proceeded to give a little anecdote, as if it was nothing more than a bedtime story. About two years ago, he held an affair with the woman. Neither of them felt particularly guilty, the main reason why she broke it off was as her young son (I remember my blood running cold at this point) didn't like it.

My mother's eyes reflected the pain in the Inspector's eyes. She had to bear with this. It was okay. But that was another fight, another issue, for another time, as the Inspector finished his story.

'Yes. Another reason was as she was pregenant.' He gave a pause, but my father's bland face remained static, 'and as soon as she gave birth, she was fired. For she lead a revolt alongside an Eva Smith.'

My mother gave a loud gasp. This couldn't get more painful, but I kept my countanace as steady as possible.

'So her son went to work somewhere- the Ashy Street- to pay for it all?' Cecilia asked.

'You can think for yourself?' I commented, without processing it. I winced, though the inspector ignored my comment, and nodded. Slow but firm.

'And he had his mother's dark eyes and hair, right?' She continued. It was now time for her story. Well not exactly-

There was another knock on the door, a familiar one, that of Gerald's firm hand. He was let in, and as he joined us in the communal room-spotting the grimly smiling Inspector, both his and Cecilia's face filled with the most terrible fear- white as bones, and pupils dialated. But the Inspector wasn't going to stop: Cecilia told her story.

She and Gerald had gone out, as friends, for a little drink, just a bit after a summer of work for Gerald. I looked at the man, whose flushed cheeks indicated otherwise. Daisy. Cecilia explained how they got a bit drunk, and decided to go home through the worker's lane. And at a corner, she collided with a young boy. Gerald instinctively pushed him to the floor, but Cecilia, stupid, naïve Cecilia, wanted to pick a fight. So when the boy got up, pushed him back down.

Mother, at this point, gave a cry of protest, while Cecilia burst into tears. Once mother was escorted away, Gerald continued quietly and calmly- every sign that he'd been through this process already.

Out of the boy's pockets flew all his work's earnings. It was a lot, enough to keep his family for at least a fortnight, Gerald said. And Cecilia snatched it up, and she and Gerald ran away, snorting, and left him on the floor, screaming in helpless pain.

And the twisted tale went to the final teller, Inspector Ruevault, resuming his merciless manner of speaking. 'He never returned home that night. Couldn't face the shame. Said so in his diary. (Here came a deep chill. He kept a diary, just like me.) So he slept rough, and then made his way to the Brumley's women mockery-of-a-Charity.'

And everyone turned to the room in which mother resided.

'Yes, let us go there. Mr. Croft- you may leave if you wish.'

'May I speak with Charlie-Charles quickly?' He was allowed so. He and I withdrew to my room, as I heard father bicker with the Inspector in why this was being done.

'Sheila wants to see you. Two days from now.'

'Gerald, that young boy...died.'

'I know, I know. I helped in his suicide. Again. Like with Daisy-Eva-damn!' I've never heard such vigour in his voice, such frustration, such upset. He gave me one last sorrowful look. 'Meet her at the Croft's factory at ten in the morning. Eric is watching you. Maybe speak with you later.' And, leaving me with those abrup words, he stalked away.

I slowly walked to the dining room, and I noticed my face get colder with every step. I was the last one left. Indeed, as I walked in, everyone's eyes were sharply focused on me, some through tears.

'Charlie Cook was a twelve year old boy who was raised by a single mother, with a young helpless sibling, who's father left them. Thankfully, he got lots of help from a woman known as Daisy Renton, or Eva Smith. Once, he was robbed, and ended up at begging for relief at a charity, relaying his life story to the woman, who rejected him purely because she recognised the thief as her daughter. He ended up living with Daisy Renton, in tough conditions, unable to face his mother. But then she committed suicide. He wound up on Ashen street.'

I continued the story, and I knew my voice was flat. I recited something like this: 'He came across a good job offer for cleaning. He took it, obviously. He worked hard. But then he found a letter from that Daisy Renton, who saved him from living on streets. But it was then that his employer came in, and raged at him reading the letter, burning it, and then dragging him to the Moor Master, famous for his cruel treatment of kids in his care. His will to live broke there.'

'He had lost everything, and as soon as he could, he ran to see his mother, who wasn't in. He left the diary, and walked to Brumley Mill Bridge, the powerful river flowing below. He jumped. His body was discovered with cuts and scratches a couple minutes ago.' The silence was deafening.

A couple minutes? I knew something about this man was different from before hand. And I knew that it didn't matter. He continued on-

'All of you killed him. A twelve year old boy.' Sheila said her parents protested. I was grateful that mine didn't. But I hated the eye roll my mother gave, and the lack of focus of my father. Cecilia listened. 'We are all members of one body, we are responsible for eachother. You've got to learn that we need all the organs to work. We need the rich and the poor to both work for society to function. Thus- you've got to care for eachother.

And if you don't, it will end in flames and tears and pain.'

He went on. And on. And on. And so I learnt. And listened. And realised how foolish I was.

Once he left, all my father said was 'we should've called the asylum when he first came' and I left for my room.

He was twelve, so young.

His hair was dark- just like mine.

His name was Charlie- just like mine.

He had his diary- just like I have mine.

He could've been me.

He could've been anyone.

What have I done?


	7. Chapter 7

**And here's, technically Chapter 6 part two, but I'll just make it chapter seven.**

 **It is from the same entry on 23/5/12 (the previous chapter) , but later on in the day. Or night.**

 **Enjoy folks!**

* * *

 _23:00_

I have calmed a bit now, and I think it is time for me to talk of today. Today was full of arguments and fighting and brainwashing. My father was determined to do something against him- until he found out he seemed to be non-existent. He consulted Mr. Birling- they didn't know what happened either. Is he a ghost or the like? That's what Cecilia asked- at first. She also argued that mother should leave the charity.

I've never realised how manipulative my parents are. They convinced her that it was nonsense. The boy was lower class, his feeling were simple: he was upset, he should die. Unlike our class- we're more sensible. That it was Eva's fault, his fault, everyone's fault but ours.

She believed it.

I stormed out of the house, to pass a police officer. I stopped- stunned. He did too. 'We called earlier. I hope your sister isn't out.'

'I left before. What did she do? Steal money?' He hesitated, but then nodded. I laughed bitterly, and I regret it now, but I knew exactly what this whole situation was reflecting, as the Croft's household came into view, the factories looming behind.

I arrived in Eric's room earlier than Sheila, Gerald scuttling out as soon as I entered. I relayed to him what happened. He hesitated before saying-

'That Eva Smith, if you're wondering what I did, is worse than anything. I was drunk and I...forced myself on her. I'm disgusted at myself. But nobody else cares. I should be in prison.'

'It seems alcohol is the cause of society's worst evils' I tried to joke, the words feeling foreign and wrong: I understood Eric's dirty look.

'Society's structure is the cause of society's worst evils' he spat, and Sheila entered.

'Finally!' Eric exclaimed, his expression changing entirely. 'Gerald gave me a book. I think it may be important.'

And with that, Eric withdrew a massive book, old, but clearly not used much. The title read 'The founding of the industrial towns of Queen Victoria's reign.' He quickly located Brumley, and read out:

'The founders of Brumley are considered Mr. H. Goole and Mr. M. Ruevault, cousins from the neighbouring village, Thamesmorton. Both wanted a place where poor and rich could work together, alongside the wonders of the industrial revolution, to create a 'better life' for all their residents. They welcomed the upper class first, making them promise that their work would be good and affordable. However, the two were ridiculous. They were unaware that things have already improved for the poor from the ages before Good Queen Victoria. The upper classes knew that however, and instead converted Brumley to a better, industrial town, with tall factories and many willing workers, brought to Brumley by the original duo's unreasonable promise. Due to this, Goole and Ruevault both committed suicide, another two victims of the dangerous push for unstablising society.'

I copied that straight from the dreaded book. Useful information, but the bias, the manipulation! I hope to never be an author like that. Twisted, malicious words, yet they were normal then. Normal now.

I haven't addressed the issue that is my guilt. I need to. What I did- I can't believe it! Regardless of suicide, of whatever, I dragged an eleven year old child to a person that would destroy him. I wanted it- I wanted him to be destroyed. I thought it was due to loyalty to Gerald- I was blind. It was loyalty twisted to anger merging into a rage that was cruel and...should be locked away. With Eric, I guess, and Cecilia. My crime? Not taming it. Having to hear that it killed a child to have me tame it. If there wasn't the opportunity to change, I'd go to hell, and I'd happily accept it. I deserve it. And even if I change, I'll go to hell, but at least the human life can do some good.


	8. Chapter 8

**The teachers have found out it was I who wrote this. Apparently they were impressed! I can't wait to see how they react!**

 **Enjoy this chapter...**

* * *

 **24/5/18**

Yes, the events of two days ago were important- but the events of today are even more so. For two days ago we saw our past. Today, we start a new future.

Sheila, Eric and I took a walk to clearly discuss what ought to happen. I cannot remember- it was probably some rambling about forming a charity.

And then we saw the two figures ahead.

Inspector Goole was taller than Ruevault, though both held an impression of massiveness, solidarity and purposefulness. Goole's eyes were hard, like stone, just as peircing as the icy stare of Ruevault's alive eyes.

'Charles, Inspector Goole, Inspector Goole, Charles.' I had no idea what to do but tighten my lips as the other Inspector gave a curt nod. Not unfriendly, not welcoming.

'You two must be the Birling children. I'm Inspector Ruevault. I believe Charles has told you much of me.

But enough with the formalities. You know who we are?' At this, I think, Eric became curious.

'Yes. How do you know things about what is occurring here, before they happen?' His question was along that line. Goole just replied with-

'This place is our life, our death, our heart.' It was clear Eric and Sheila wanted to ask more, but refrained from doing so. I myself just felt queasy. The thought of running dashed through my mind- and face- earning me a knowing glance from that damned omniscient, sarcastic Inspector.

'When this place was founded, the rich were meant to use their higher status to help the poor.' Inspector Goole started.

'And you expect us to do so now?'

'No. I expect you to use both your power and new-found understanding to benefit all in Brumley.' The words were impressive, overwhelming. Ruevault continued.

'As you know, we both committed suicide.' A pause. 'And, over time's turns and life's ticking, our suicide caused Eva Smith to commit suicide too.'

Eric murmured something about 'euphemisms' and I would have agreed, but we needed this truth spat at our face, screaming in our ears, entering our minds.

'And her death lead to another- one of a young boy named Charlie.'

This would go on, and on, and on.

'Can we stop it?' Sheila pleaded, eye's filled with tears.

'Yes.'

'And if you don't, Brumley will likely end up as a barren land of lonely steel, all the life having moved away to another English town...or any other domain in heaven.'

I desperately asked 'How?' despite suspecting that they'd say:

'You know what lead to the others, stop it from happening again.

'A rich family messes up. A poor person dies. So-' Eric was hushed by Goole.

'Who said it has to be a rich family? Or a poor victim?'

That threw us off.

'We can all be bad. We can all be good. We all have power. We all have sadness. We all can kill. We can all be killed.' Ruevault's words were a dagger in the chest. He continued on: 'Indeed, everyone should be equal in rights and power and justice. Of course, law prevents that, you have power here. Or rather, it is like the power expressed in Shelley's 'Ozymandias' in which they think they have power, but actually nature-'

At least the two had flaws. Ruevault's clearly was getting too off-track. Not that I'd blame him though, it is Percy Byshee Shelley.

'Anyway, that is not the issue. You have social power and you will use it. Use it well. Use it for equality. All animals are equal. Some are just more equal than others.'

'Where is that from?' Goole asked, his voice a growl.

'I don't know. I think it's from the future.'

'Literature doesn't matter. What matters now is Brumley.' Inspector Goole impressed upon the listeners. 'It's you three who can save it.'

'But we need to know who is going to...' Eric's sentence remained unfinished, but we knew it.

'They know the four gone so far. In some way.' A clue. Because this is a riddle. A riddle. Eric burst first- they knew who was going to die but they weren't saying!

'Mr. Birling!' Goole intervined, 'if we just tell you who will be next, then you won't learn how to save society. So you cannot teach your children how to save society. You have to learn!'

We were silent.

'So go, choose.' He calmly went on, somehow, 'end the world with peace and equality and smiles- or will it end in-'

'Fire and blood and anguish.' Sheila and Eric recited together.

'Flames and tears and pain.' I recalled.

All Inspector Ruevault gave me was a small smile, before the duo turned away, and strutted down the road, dissolving into the darkness.

We went straight to the alley. I felt sick as Sheila and Eric shouted my name 'Charlie!' Though this was for Charlie Cook. Who I've killed. No- who my whole family has killed. And showed no remorse for. A family I don't want to associate with (hence why I've been staying in the spare room.)

The Inspectors talked of one whohad already met the four before. We assumed that was the four who took their own lives- Ruevault, Charlie, Goole and Eva.

Charlie's mother was our bet. She knew Charlie and Eva, and we have no clue who knew the ghosts or whatever. But no woman emerged. Dull, dusty, dreary, the alley was not welcoming.

'The palace? It could be a pretty one for all I know.'

'They're called women, not pretty ones, Charles. Besides, I'd have to keep an eye on Eric.'

'I've changed!' he protested, but I could hear the doubt in his own voice. The sadness in Sheila's eyes. What he did- he knew he should never be allowed to see the beautiful sun above us, shining rays of starlight, of hope that we cannot catch, as we search wildly on.

Half an hour passes, Eric's eyes go dark. 'I'm expected to return to the Croft's now.' He muttered, distressed. 'Take Sheila home, then go home yourself.'

We did so, dissapointed. Desperate, Sheila even suggested her own mother! She had met Goole, and Eva, maybe even Charlie at the Brumley's Women Charity, however Sheila-with a laugh- commented on how her mother would be moved by any.

Who, who, who is it?


	9. Chapter 9

**Worked it out yet? Whether or not you've done so, enjoy this penultimate chapter!**

* * *

 **25/5/12**

As usual I went to Eric's place.

I met with Sheila on the way. We walked there together.

But before we even got to the door, there was a most terrible cry- 'Gerald!' in Eric's voice, which broke as he let out the shout.

Gerald ran past us, to who knows where.

Eric came around the corner, hair messy and face full of worry.

I remember my blood running cold.

And then memories rushed back. Gerald had been there with the Birling when Inspector Goole visited them.

Because he had an affair with Eva Smith.

And also stumbled across Inspector Ruevault

for he had pushed Charlie Cook to the ground.

Gerald, my friend, my best friend, who I have been stupidly ignoring since all that while ago. I realised that

Gerald was next.


	10. Chapter 10

**The final chapter! But first, acknowledgements!**

 **Thank you J. B. Priestly for writing this obviously!**

 **Thanks to my English teacher for making me read the book!**

 **The cover is of Tom Holland, my boy, because I liked the picture.**

 **Anddd yea, here's the ending note!**

* * *

And I have been delaying this moment for too long.

I will no longer continue this diary. Why? I am writing this whole case like it's a story. It not. This is real life. People are dead, dying, and will die if this continues. No, it isn't a silly little diary story any more. I- we- have to fight it, or it'll all end. I don't know what'll end, but it can't be good. Probably it'll end with bullets and tears and screams and fire and blood and anguish and more.

So for the last time, Charles Brunswick.

* * *

 **As terrible as it was, I hope you enjoyed it.**

 **I'd like to thank my English teacher and AQA for making me read An Inspector Calls. Well, maybe not AQA because these GCSEs are too stressful. But, yes, thank you to my English teacher, and Priestly for writing the text.**

 **What happens to Gerald is now up to you.**

 **Yes I'm doing a J. B. Priestly, deal with it.**


End file.
